


First Taste

by lesbianettes



Category: Chicago Med
Genre: Blood, But can be read as stand alone, Homoeroticism, Human!Jimmy - Freeform, M/M, One Shot, Standalone, Vampire AU, this is part of the vm!au on my tumblr, vampire!crockett
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-12-07 19:16:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20981006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbianettes/pseuds/lesbianettes
Summary: Jimmy allows Crockett to taste.





	First Taste

“Are you sure?”

He’s asked it a thousand times before they even reached this point, but still, Crockett asks again as he cooks a meal to pair with the heavy glass of wine he poured Jimmy the second they got here. His voice carries, accent thick, over the scent of southern comfort frying on the stove. All the research Jimmy’s done says he’ll be tired after, and if it’s true, he doubts he’ll want to eat. He even said as much. But Crockett insisted, and now has on a stupid apron that says “KISS THE COOK” like in old cartoons as he shakes the pan. It does smell good. Is this what people smell like to Crockett?

“Where’d you learn to cook? Since you don’t eat food?” he deflects.

Crockett pauses, head down. 

“I wasn’t always this way.”

He leaves it at that, and sets a lid over the pan with ease before coming closer, looking less and less like the trauma surgeon and more and more like the creature of the night. His eyes, this close up, are more gold than brown, and his fangs seem longer, sharper, where they now dig into his plush bottom lip. Jimmy has the strangest impulse to kiss him. It’s downright insane to think about, with the weight of what’s about to happen. Crockett leans close, effectively pinning him against the counter, and smiles with his mouth but not his eyes.

“You should take this off,” he says, a hand toying with the collar of Jimmy’s shirt, “if you don’t want it stained.”

Maybe it’s his imagination, but Jimmy swears his voice dipped lower than usual. The air around them feels different as he undoes each button, slow and cautious, before shrugging out of his shirt. His tie was gone before he even got to Crockett’s apartment. Without warning, Crockett’s hands are on his chest, and they’re  _ cold _ , much colder than a human’s should be.

One palm stays flat against Jimmy’s chest, firm and steady, while the other grips his chin gently and tilts his head back. He feels exposed, like this. Maybe that’s the point. His chest and throat are bare, and Crockett’s looking at him like he’s prey which, Jimmy supposes, he is right now. He swallows on reflex and Crockett has the audacity to huff out a laugh at him.

“Last chance to back out.”

Jimmy isn’t doing that. Not when there’s so much on the line, and he’s already lightheaded with Crockett’s proximity. Lips skim his throat in search of his carotid, because it’s the easiest place to feed for things like Crockett. He doesn’t know why he does what he does next, but he cups one hand around Crockett’s skull, threads his fingers through surprisingly soft hair and holds him close. 

He’s about to say to get on with it, but then there’s a sharp pain in his neck, enough that he almost cries out. But before he can, his body seems to grow lazy on him, and the pain turns to warmth spreading out from his neck. His hand stays though, laced through Crockett’s hair. He watches him drink. Eyes shut, lips and tongue working against his neck to drain him, throat bobbing with each heavy swallow. He looks, in this moment, not like a monster, but like a man giving. Giving something. Affection. A hickey. Like he can hear Jimmy’s thoughts, Crockett tightens the seal of his lips enough that it just barely starts to hurt again.

As suddenly as he grew warm, Jimmy begins to feel cold. It starts in his fingers and toes, but quickly creeps up his limbs until it’s edging into his chest. He can’t move his hands. The fear strikes him that Crockett won’t stop, won’t be able to stop, and he’ll keep going until Jimmy collapses, drained, on the kitchen floor.

But then Crockett pulls back, and the instant his hands are gone, Jimmy nearly falls over. He’s dizzy, he realizes, and his body doesn’t feel like listening to his mind.

“You’re okay,” Crockett says, now holding a towel to his neck and cradling his face. Jimmy doesn’t remember him getting a towel. “It’s over. How’re you feeling?”

Jimmy means to answer, but he gets caught on the blood. Smeared on Crockett’s lips, caked onto his teeth. It’s dark and thick and, until recently, was in his body. He looks down at his own wrists and they seem like marble.

“Hey. Lanik. You with me?”

He tries to nod, but it hurts.

“Good enough. Hold this here-” Crockett grabs one of Jimmy’s arms and pushes his hand to his neck, “while I fix you a plate. You need to get something in you if you wanna recover.”

By some miracle, Jimmy holds the towel in his plate while Crockett fills a bowl with whatever was on the stove. It smells good, spicy. He knows what it’s called, but the name of the dish doesn’t come to him when he's out of it. The bowl thuds in front of him, but not quite on center, accompanied by a glass of apple juice. Before he can reach for it, there’s a forkful of food in front of his face. 

Jimmy’s about to protest, but Crockett speaks first. “It’s just easier. You’re shaking, and you’re dizzy. This is for the best.”

He wants to argue but he’s tired. So he allows Crockett to feed him, even if whatever was made tastes like nothing with his dulled senses. Knowing Crockett, it’s probably a good thing because whatever he cooked is probably spicy. He doesn’t think throwing up because his body hates spice is a good next move.

Surprisingly, Crockett is tender with him. He feeds Jimmy the whole bowl and holds the glass for him. Afterward, he wipes his face with a napkin and peels the towel from his neck. There’s still some blood though, sticky and half-dry on Jimmy’s neck and chest and shoulder, enough that he feels like he needs a shower.

Crockett seems to have thought of that, though, and produces an antiseptic wipe to clean him with, even if it stings when he starts at the bite. By the time he pulls away, the white has become rusty, and Jimmy’s skin feels cold. Next comes a little gauze pad with a smooth dollop of soothing ointment applied to it. Putting it on, Crockett is almost painfully gentle. Smoothing down each piece of medical tape carefully, and stroking any skin his hands must trail over. It’s a lover’s touch from a monster.

“Do you want me to drive you home? Or do you wanna stay here?”

Jimmy doesn’t remember answering.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr @beelivia
> 
> au tag #vm!au


End file.
